


Love/Hate

by almostafantasia



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:27:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23973751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostafantasia/pseuds/almostafantasia
Summary: A smutty contribution to the post 3x03 fandom meltdown.akaVillanelle shows up at Eve’s apartment after the bus incident and “things” happen.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 31
Kudos: 963





	Love/Hate

**Author's Note:**

> this started out as a short little thing to practice writing smut while i procrastinate writing other more important things and i quickly got very carried away

It would be much easier to regret kissing Villanelle if her lips had not been so goddamn _soft._

As it is, Eve has about as much regret over kissing Villanelle as she has self-control to stop pressing the toy so she can hear Villanelle’s voice. Which is to say that she has absolutely zero on both counts.

 _Admit it Eve, you wish I was here_.

Eve does wish that Villanelle was here. She wishes that Villanelle was here so that she can say the _fuck you_ she never got around to saying earlier, so that she can show Villanelle her scar and demand an apology for leaving her for dead, so that she can punch her and kick her and slap her and...

Fuck it, Eve wishes that Villanelle was here so that she can kiss her again.

 _Admit it Eve, you wish I was here_.

It’s the gazillionth time Eve has listened to those eight short words. They are imprinted on her eardrums like a tattoo, not just the words themselves but the exact tone too, each inflection of Villanelle’s voice committed to memory to haunt her for the rest of her miserable life.

At what point, Eve wonders to herself, did she become a hopeless cause? Was it in Rome, or perhaps in Paris? Was it even earlier, in the bathroom of a North London hospital when the pretty nurse told her to wear her hair down? Or maybe it was decided at the beginning of time itself, when dust and atoms exploded across the universe, that Eve would become the dumbass who kissed Villanelle on the top deck of a moving bus.

It was certainly not a twist of fate that caused Villanelle to appear on that bus. Eve doesn’t believe in coincidences. No, that was a carefully calculated move on Villanelle’s part.

What was Villanelle hoping would happen? Did she expect Eve’s rage? Her flailing limbs? Her desire to hurt Villanelle?

Did she expect Eve to kiss her?

When Eve hears three sharp knocks that sound against her door in the dead of the night and pull her out of her thoughts, they are not unexpected, nor are they entirely unwanted.

As Eve sits up in bed and stares at the door, where a shadowy shape that is undeniably Villanelle is silhouetted against the frosted glass panes, Eve reflects on the two significant realisations she has reached since her encounter with Villanelle on the bus.

One; kissing Villanelle was undoubtedly a stupid mistake.

And two; kissing Villanelle was a stupid mistake that Eve would quite like the chance to make again.

“What do you want?” Eve calls out through the door.

“An apology.”

Eve swings her legs out of bed and crosses over to the front door, her bare feet silent against the carpeted floor. She doesn’t actually open the door, because not even Eve can predict how she will react to seeing Villanelle’s face again. Keeping a physical barrier between them is definitely the safest option.

“What have I possibly got to apologise for? _You’re_ the one who shot me and left me for dead.”

“You attacked me on a bus,” comes Villanelle’s reply. “You kissed me without my permission.” 

Eve can’t help herself. She flicks open the catch and lets the door swing wide open.

“Without your permission?” she mocks. “Oh, please.”

Opening the door to Villanelle, it turns out, is just as much of a bad idea as Eve knew it would be. Because now, Eve not only has to contend with the memory of what happened on the bus, but she also has to concentrate really hard on making sure that it doesn’t happen again. Which is going to be a monstrous challenge, because Villanelle is standing just a couple of feet away from her, hands buried deep in the pockets of a different pair of trousers, but wearing the same arrogant smirk on her face as before.

Eve doesn’t know if she wants to slap the expression off Villanelle’s face or kiss it off.

From past experience, it could very well be that she attempts both.

“Can I come in?” asks Villanelle, who doesn’t even wait for an answer before she sweeps past into Eve’s tiny studio apartment.

And _shit_ , this is going to be difficult, because of course Villanelle is still wearing the same intoxicating scent and Eve just happens to be breathing in as Villanelle steps past her.

“Why did you kiss me?” Villanelle asks casually, pacing around the apartment and inspecting it as she goes, regarding the overflowing trash can and the empty bottles of wine scattered across the floor with a wrinkled nose of disgust.

The thing is, Eve simply does not know why she kissed Villanelle. She has very little recollection of the events leading up to it. One moment, she was the picture of innocence, politely minding her own business on the same predictable bus journey she takes every single day. The next, on her back across two seats with Villanelle’s bodyweight pinning her down and that hypnotising scent filling her nostrils.

Okay, maybe _that_ explains why she did it.

A stupid, _stupid_ mistake.

“Because I hate you.”

It’s much easier to lie than to tell the truth. No wonder there are so many more bad people in the world than there are good.

Villanelle runs her finger along the shelf, collecting a trail of dust on her fingertip, then looks at Eve over her shoulder as she says, “You don’t hate me, Eve.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You don’t.”

“I do!”

“Fine,” says Villanelle. “You hate me.”

Villanelle picks up a photo frame from Eve’s shelf, pulling a face at the picture of Eve and Niko that it displays.

“Can you please stop touching my things?” snaps Eve.

Villanelle puts the frame face down on the shelf and lets her hands slip back into her pockets. She leans against the shelf, oozing authority. The look in her eyes, that smirk, those lips...

Goddamn it, Eve really should crack a window open to let the scent of that perfume diffuse out.

“If you hate me,” asks Villanelle, a thoughtful frown appearing in the muscles that crease between her eyebrows, “does that mean you’re going to kiss me again?”

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” accuses Eve. “That’s why you’re here. Because you think I’m going to kiss you again.”

“Are you?”

“No.”

Eve folds her arms across her chest, still unmoved from where she let Villanelle into the apartment.

“Okay. But if you change your mind, could you maybe give me some warning next time? Just so I can prepare myself for possibly being headbutted again.”

Eve’s eyes flicker up to the bruise just above Villanelle’s eye.

“You deserved that.”

Villanelle rolls her eyes and says, “It was still rude.”

 _Rude_? Eve can barely repress an eye roll. How Villanelle can have the audacity to call Eve rude when _she_ is the one who has shown up unannounced twice in a single day, Eve doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to understand.

“Why are you here?” asks Eve, letting out an exhausted sigh.

“Do you like living here, Eve?” asks Villanelle, entirely ignoring Eve’s question as she saunters over to the kitchen units that are all crammed in one corner. “In this … box?”

“This is my home.”

“It’s so _small_.” Villanelle turns and her eyes fall upon Eve’s bed, before she adds, “And your mattress is really lumpy.”

It takes Eve half a second to realise exactly how Villanelle knows this. And then she wonders, what _else_ does Villanelle know about Eve’s apartment? Did she inspect the contents of Eve’s fridge and wrinkle her nose at the microwave meals and expired milk inside? Did she rummage through Eve’s clothes, through even her underwear drawer? Was the talking bear the only thing that Villanelle left for Eve to find?

Eve’s eyes drop to the pink bear that lies face down on the floor, its stuffing spilling out of its back from where Eve tore the small speaker out from within. 

“Did you like my gift?” asks Villanelle, following Eve’s gaze.

“No.”

“Have you been listening to it?”

“No,” lies Eve.

Eve watches as Villanelle’s eyes flicker up to the pink heart, where it sits on the table beside the bed. The corners of her lips curl up into an infuriating smile that tells Eve she’s been caught.

“You know,” says Villanelle thoughtfully, “I think you might be the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.”

Eve is unable to stop herself from laughing at the irony of Villanelle’s comment.

“ _I’m_ stubborn?”

“Why won’t you just admit it Eve?” asks Villanelle, stalking towards Eve. “Are you too much of a coward to admit that the real reason you kissed me today is because you like me?”

Villanelle stops just a couple of feet from Eve, her face within kissing distance. Her perfect, pretty face. Her _sculpted-from-marble-by-gods-determined-on-ruining-the-last-scraps-of-Eve’s-life_ face.

No, Eve tells herself. Her _stupid_ face. Her _ugly_ face. And it’s within slapping distance, not kissing distance.

“I already told you, I ha-”

“You hate me.” Villanelle completes Eve’s sentence with an impatient roll of her eyes. “Bla bla bla. If you hate me so much, why don’t you prove it?”

Eve’s heart tightens momentarily in her chest, like Villanelle’s words have physically reached down her throat with a clawed hand and squeezed the muscle to stop it from being able to function in the way that it should. She doesn’t know if Villanelle is challenging her to fight or to kiss, perhaps _both_ again, but she knows that she’s not strong enough to physically overpower Villanelle (the bruise on her head is a throbbing reminder of what happens if she tries that) and kissing Villanelle would be an even bigger punch to her ego because that would mean admitting that Villanelle is right about Eve liking her.

Eve absolutely does _not_ like Villanelle. 

She liked _kissing_ her, sure, for the whole three-seconds-slash-hundred-years that their lips were connected earlier today. But you don’t have to like somebody to kiss them.

Villanelle’s lips are right there - soft and slightly parted, calling out to Eve like a seductive siren luring a lost sailor at sea.

No.

 _No_.

Eve has fallen for that once today. She will not succumb a second time.

She drags her eyes away from Villanelle’s face, and the spell is broken.

“Go,” says Eve, reaching out behind her for the latch on the door and opening it, standing aside to indicate to Villanelle that she is expecting her to step back out into the hallway outside Eve’s apartment. “Leave me alone.”

“Really?”

Eve refuses to let herself look up at Villanelle’s face again, in case she gets drawn back in and changes her mind, but she can picture the expression on Villanelle’s face in her mind. The image of Villanelle looking at her with hurt and betrayal in her eyes is one that will be etched onto Eve’s eyelids for the rest of eternity.

“Yes. I don’t want you here.”

“If I leave, I’m not coming back,” Villanelle challenges her.

“Good.”

Villanelle hesitates for a second, then skulks past Eve with extra resentment in each booted footstep.

“You know, Eve,” says Villanelle, stopping and turning once she has stepped through the doorway, “you are being very nasty today and it doesn’t suit you.”

Eve’s response to that particular accusation is to close the door in Villanelle’s face. 

And then it is just Eve, alone in her apartment, free to return to what she was doing before Villanelle so rudely showed up at her door.

Except that what Eve was doing before was lying in bed, unable to sleep, staring up at the damp stains on the ceiling as she played Villanelle’s stupid voice message on repeat. Eve hardly thinks that is the healthiest course of action, given who is probably still lurking outside her door.

Villanelle already knows that Eve has listened to that message, and probably that she has listened to it on repeat, but Eve can’t think of anything more mortifying that Villanelle standing outside Eve’s door and hearing the tinny replica of her own voice, knowing that Eve can’t stop listening to it.

Would it turn Villanelle on, to hear Eve listening to it?

Would it turn _Eve_ on, to know that Villanelle is listening to _her_?

 _Stupid question_ , Eve chastises herself, as she clenches her thighs together.

Leaning her back against the closed door, Eve inhales deeply to try and clear her head of traitorous thoughts, but that turns out to be the worst idea of all because Villanelle’s _fucking_ perfume is still lingering and it’s stronger than before. Eve wonders for how long she’ll still be able to smell Villanelle’s presence in her apartment. Will it be days? Weeks?

 _Admit it Eve, you wish I was here_.

Fuck it, Eve doesn’t care if she hates herself come morning.

When she opens the door again, Villanelle is still standing there. She arches a single eyebrow, which is enough for Eve to grab her by her jacket and pull her back into the apartment.

Villanelle’s back hits the door as it closes with a thud, and Eve’s lips are on hers within milliseconds. This time, instead of just freezing the moment it happens, Eve closes her eyes to stop herself from overthinking and just commits to tumbling over the edge into hell. Villanelle’s mouth opens receptively and a single swipe of Eve’s tongue into her mouth is enough to draw out a soft moan.

“Just so we’re clear,” Eve mumbles against Villanelle’s lips between kisses, “This is still me hating you.”

“I know,” says Villanelle, tipping her head back against the door to give Eve access to her neck as her hands slide down Eve’s body and come to rest on the swell of her hips. 

Eve buries her face into the newly exposed skin of Villanelle’s neck, nuzzling her nose just beneath Villanelle’s ear and inhaling deeply. The smell of the perfume is strong and it awakens something feral inside Eve. She is completely powerless to the instinct that takes over as her teeth nip at Villanelle’s neck, catching at the skin and pulling until she elicits a sharp intake of breath from Villanelle’s throat.

“Oh god, you’re _really_ good at hating me, Eve.”

As one of Villanelle’s hands comes up to bury itself in Eve’s hair, Eve suddenly remembers that she has hands of her own, and puts them to immediate use trying to push Villanelle’s jacket off her shoulders. Villanelle helps her by stepping away from the door and shrugging off the garment, before reaching for the hem of Eve’s own top. Eve helps her, taking a couple of staggering steps backwards as the cotton pyjama top gets caught around her unruly mane, and only remembers that she took off her bra when she changed out of her clothes earlier in the evening after the top has already been lifted over her head and thrown somewhere behind Villanelle to join the rest of the mess on Eve’s floor.

Disarmed by her own accidental state of semi-nudity, Eve doesn’t realise that Villanelle has managed to take charge until her calves hit the bed and she stumbles into a sitting position on the edge of the mattress. Villanelle wastes absolutely no time at all in climbing into Eve’s lap, and then her lips are back again in another kiss and Eve suddenly has no recollection of the fact that just seconds ago, it was _her_ who was in control as they made out against the door.

One of Villanelle’s hands finds Eve tit and plucks at her nipple, and Eve lets out an ungodly moan that gets swallowed by Villanelle’s mouth.

“Do you still hate me?” Villanelle murmurs against Eve’s lips, and _god_ , does she ever stop being such a smug asshole?

Eve decides to ask as much.

“Do you ever stop being such a smug asshole?”

Villanelle leans forward until Eve starts to feel herself toppling backwards, until she is flat on her back with Villanelle’s body pinning her to the bed.

“Is that a yes?” asks Villanelle.

Eve doesn’t actually hate Villanelle, no. She hates the idea of her, of somebody who is able to dismantle her so completely and then put her back together into a shadow that Eve doesn’t even recognise in the mirror anymore. That’s what Eve hates.

Villanelle’s line of questioning is pointless because a) they both already know the answer without Eve having to go through the mortifying ordeal of actually admitting it and b) there are much better things Villanelle could be doing right now instead of asking dumb questions to stroke her own ego.

“Take off your clothes,” orders Eve.

“Take them off yourself.”

“Asshole,” mutters Eve, even as her fingers fumble with the buttons on Villanelle’s shirt, unable to pop each plastic disc through its hole fast enough for her own satisfaction.

When the shirt falls down Villanelle’s arms and onto the bed, Villanelle rolls off Eve’s body and helps her with the next bit, kicking off her boots and deftly popping open the button on the front of her pants and peeling them down her legs. Eve takes the opportunity to remove her own pyjama shorts, because she’s going to want them off sooner or later so why wait?

When Villanelle notices that Eve is completely naked, she pauses midway through undressing herself, trousers caught around her ankles. Eve feels self-conscious about the way that Villanelle’s eyes inspect every inch of her body, the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the dark patch of hair between her legs. It takes every ounce of willpower to stop herself from clamming up and covering herself, because that’s not who she wants to be around Villanelle. She doesn’t want to be the meek little mouse who lets the big bad wolf coerce her into giving in. Eve wants to take ownership of her own decisions, as terrible as they may be, and be the one who takes what she wants from Villanelle.

“You are incredible,” says Villanelle, her eyes wide with wonder. She finishes kicking off her trousers and underwear in one go, then crawls over to Eve and kneels over her. “Do you even know how beautiful you are?”

Unable to come up with a verbal response to that, Eve just grabs Villanelle’s hand and guides it between her legs, letting out a soft gasp when Villanelle’s fingertips slide through her folds for the first time. 

Eve already knew that she was wet - that she’s been wet since Villanelle manhandled her onto her back on the bus this afternoon - but it’s only now, with Villanelle’s fingers gliding through that arousal, that she realises just how turned on she is.

“Fuck, baby, is this all for me?”

The use of the pet name isn’t lost on Eve, but she has more pressing issues at hand than to call Villanelle out on it. Namely, the ache between her legs.

“If I say yes, will you do something about it?”

Villanelle uses her free hand to pry Eve’s knees open, and Eve doesn’t even have half a second to worry about being spread open and vulnerable, because Villanelle’s fingers start moving with more purpose, finding the swollen nub of her clit and painting circles around it with the arousal collected on her fingertips. Eve’s head falls back against the pillow and her hips instinctively buck up into Villanelle’s hand. She would be embarrassed about how needy she must look, except that there is no space left in her brain for embarrassment, because all she can think about is Villanelle and her fingers and her lips which are - _oh god_ \- they’re now wrapped around Eve’s nipple and this is just _obscene_ how well Villanelle seems to know exactly what Eve wants.

“You like this?” asks Villanelle, scraping her teeth against the hardened bud of Eve’s nipple, as her fingers dip lower and tease at Eve’s entrance. 

If it’s the validation that Villanelle wants, because she surely cannot be in doubt about the fact that Eve is enjoying it, then she’s not going to get it. And not just because Eve is being stubborn about admitting that she’s slowly losing her mind from the pleasure that Villanelle gives her, but also because Eve can’t really remember what words even are anymore.

“If you think this is good,” Villanelle murmurs against Eve’s tit, and Eve feels the mattress dip as Villanelle shifts her weight around, “just wait until I eat you out.”

Villanelle’s arrogance is infuriating, but it’s also really doing something for Eve. Like, _really_ doing something. There’s something incredibly attractive about Villanelle knowing exactly how good she is making Eve feel.

Eve also really wants to find out if there is truth in Villanelle’s words, which is why she somehow manages locate the motor skills required to place a hand on the top of Villlanelle’s head and push it downwards.

“Somebody’s eager,” teases Villanelle.

“Just do it,” pleads Eve. “I need your mouth on me right now.”

“Yes, boss,” comes Villanelle’s obedient reply.

Except that Villanelle doesn’t obey. Seemingly hellbent on causing Eve to completely ruin her own bedsheets, Villanelle doesn’t use her mouth to give relief to Eve’s aching clit. Instead, she settles between Eve’s legs and starts at Eve’s ankle, pressing feather-light kisses to skin that Eve didn’t even realise could be sensitive.

She’s agonisingly slow at moving higher up Eve’s leg. Eve decides that this must be a form of torture, certain that she would betray any government secret, no matter the cost, if it meant that Villanelle would finally concede and give her what she wants. Villanelle places kiss after kiss against Eve’s leg, taking an inordinate amount of time to explore every inch of skin.

Eve didn’t know that there were so many erogenous zones on her legs, but Villanelle seems capable of locating every single one with apparent ease. Her calf, her ankle, the inside of her knee, Villanelle’s lips and tongue trace over it all until Eve is a quivering mess and aching to be touched in the one place that really matters.

“You know,” gasps Eve, “I’m starting to wonder if you’re all talk. I’m yet to see what that mouth of yours can actually do.”

The way that Villanelle’s fingers tighten on Eve’s thighs are enough to tell Eve that her words have provoked a reaction. Villanelle is too predictable, too _proud_ to back down from a challenge like that.

“And you call me the asshole, huh?”

Villanelle sinks her teeth into Eve’s thigh, hard enough to surely leave an indentation in the skin that lingers long after this finishes, then moves up the bed until her head is where Eve wants it. 

_Almost_ where Eve wants it. Villanelle somehow manages to waste yet more time, precious seconds that seem to drag on for hours. She lifts one of Eve’s thighs up and over her shoulder so that her leg is draped across Villanelle’s back, then pushes Eve’s other knee outwards so that her pussy is spread open for Villanelle to taste.

The first touch of Villanelle’s tongue is a promise of what is to come. Villanelle starts low and sweeps upwards in a single languid stroke with a flat tongue, letting out a hum of approval as she tastes Eve for the first time. The sound sends vibrations through Eve’s core, and when Villanelle finishes with an artful flick of her tongue across Eve’s clit, Eve is helpless to the way that her back arches off the bed.

One of Eve’s hands goes once again to the back of Villanelle’s head, pulling the hair tie free and burying her fingers deep in Villanelle’s golden hair. She holds Villanelle’s mouth against her, letting out a moan as Villanelle’s tongue explores, each stroke teasing, altogether too much but still never quite providing Eve what she needs for her climax to start building.

“For fuck’s sake, Villanelle, will you just…”

Eve trails off into an incoherent moan of pleasure as Villanelle slips two fingers past Eve’s entrance without any warning. Eve is more than turned on enough to accept them and this is _finally_ what she wants. Villanelle hooks her fingers against Eve’s front wall and puts her tongue back to work, matching each thrust of her fingers with a flick of her tongue against Eve’s clit.

“Oh god. Oh fuck. Don’t stop.”

Eve is incapable of articulating anything more than that. She slaps her free hand across her eyes as her hips buck up off the bed into Villanelle’s mouth again. She finds a rhythm, one the matches Villanelle’s, and _this_ is what she needs. Villanelle’s tongue and her fingers and her scent and her _everything_ consuming Eve’s life.

“Look at me, Eve,” Villanelle growls against Eve’s clit. “I want you to watch me while I go down on you.” 

Eve can’t. She just _can’t_. How is she supposed to do anything when she can barely manage to think, to breathe, to remember her own name and where she is? How can she look Villanelle in the eye while Villanelle is completely and utterly _ruining_ her.

“I can’t - oh _god_ , Villanelle, I’m getting close…”

“Look at me, Eve, if you want to come.”

Well _that’s_ an order Eve cannot disobey.

Eve slowly peels away the hand covering her own eyes and forces herself to look down at Villanelle. The visual itself is almost enough to send Eve toppling over the edge, the black of Villanelle’s pupils filled with an almost animalistic hunger as she eats Eve out, and Eve knows that it really isn’t going to be long at all before she comes.

“Good girl,” murmurs Villanelle, and _that’s_ when Eve falls apart.

It could be seconds, it could be years, it could be _lifetimes_ before Eve finally stops shaking and comes back to her senses. Villanelle slowly withdraws her fingers and crawls up Eve’s body, pressing her lips to Eve’s in a messy kiss. Eve can taste herself on the tongue that swipes into her mouth and it should probably be weird tasting herself but it’s just _not_ because she finds it so incredibly sexy that Villanelle doesn’t care about having Eve’s arousal smeared across her lips and chin.

“Can you…?” says Villanelle, breaking away from the kiss for not even long enough to get out a complete question, and she completes her words instead by grabbing Eve’s wrist and guiding the hand between her legs.

Eve gasps when her fingers encounter Villanelle’s wetness for the first time. So caught up in her own desperate need to be fucked, Eve had sort of forgotten about the fact that maybe Villanelle would be just as needy. Villanelle adjusts their positions so that she’s straddling Eve’s lap, and then starts rocking her hips down into Eve’s hand.

“I’ve never … I don’t…”

“It doesn’t matter,” says Villanelle, eyes closed and hips rolling down into Eve. “It won’t take much. I just need it to be you, Eve. I’ve waited so long for it to be you.”

It’s all the verbal encouragement that Eve needs. She doesn’t doubt that Villanelle could have her pick from half of London tonight, but Eve is the one who she’s chosen to be with, Eve is the one touching her, the one who will make her come.

And after the performance that Villanelle has just given for Eve, she vows to make Villanelle come _hard_.

Inexperience doesn’t matter when instinct takes over. Eve slides her fingers lower, marvelling out just how wet Villanelle is, and pushes a finger into Villanelle.

“Fuck, baby…”

Eve isn’t really sure which of them it is who says it (and perhaps it is both), but there is something incredibly powerful about the feeling of being inside Villanelle for the first time that Eve doesn’t think she would ever be able to put into words. She just concentrates on the moment, sending one hand up Villanelle’s spine and fumbling with the clasp of Villanelle’s bra until it snaps open and the garment falls down her arms onto Eve’s chest.

Using her free hand to grope unashamedly at Villanelle’s tits, Eve applies herself fully to getting Villanelle off. She thrusts with her finger before adding a second, the answering whimper the Villanelle lets out going straight to her head and making her giddy, then searches around with her thumb until she finds Villanelle’s clit.

“Yes, Eve, right there … don’t you _dare_ stop now or I swear I will…”

Eve doesn’t get to find out what Villanelle will do to her if she stops, because she reaches up to grab the back of Villanelle’s head and pulls her in for another messy kiss. Villanelle holds up her own body weight with an arm anchored to the mattress on either side of Eve’s head and uses the new position to ride Eve’s fingers with quick thrusts of her hips. Villanelle gasps into Eve’s mouth until it becomes a mess of lips and tongues moving against each other in something vaguely resembling a kiss.

Villanelle is close, of that Eve is certain. And so, because Villanelle is doing most of the work on top of her and seems to know exactly what she wants, Eve just concentrates on being present for Villanelle, on keeping her fingers where Villanelle needs them and her thumb rubbing against Villanelle’s clit.

“You feel so good,” says Eve, whispering the words against Villanelle’s mouth. “You feel amazing, baby.”

It’s the ‘ _baby_ ’ that does it. Villanelle looks beautiful as she comes, back arching and Eve’s name spilling from her lips like a mantra as she rides out the shockwaves of pleasure. Eve keeps one hand between Villanelle’s legs and runs the other up and down Villanelle’s forearm, whispering words of encouragement as her movements gradually slow down into nothing.

How did they get from hatred to _this_?

Villanelle’s spent body collapses on top of Eve’s, a slick sheen of sweat covering her skin. Eve is quite content to bask in this bliss for a while, to ignore real world responsibilities and the feelings her future self might have about what she’s just done.

“How was that?” asks Eve, running her fingers up and down the ridges of Villanelle’s spine.

Villanelle lifts her head from where it rests against Eve’s shoulder, the haze of her recent orgasm still evident in her face as she arches an eyebrow at Eve.

“Do you want a score out of ten?” 

Villanelle’s voice should not be allowed to be that husky, and Eve realises that once is never going to be enough. Villanelle is an addiction that Eve will have to keep injecting into her veins if she wants to have any hope at all of remaining sane.

With this in mind, Eve slides her hands down to Villanelle’s ass and lets one of Villanelle’s legs slot in between her own.

“Maybe you could give me feedback in a slightly more practical format?”

Villanelle rolls her eyes, even as she lets her muscular thigh start to rut between Eve’s legs.

“Jesus, Eve, why don’t you just ask me to fuck you again like a normal person?”


End file.
